More Than We Wanted, Less Than We Need
by sleepwalk
Summary: Random events in the history of a AU darker future Finchel. Bittersweet morsels. Totally NSFW.
1. Said and Unsaid

Author's note: I was kicking this around for quite a while and, lo and behold, the finale of S3 made it decided less AU (potentially.) Not so very happy these little stories. I want to call them "bittersweet morsels." This one, in particular should bring you up to speed on how this universe has panned out. It reads like Memento (on purpose, I swear) and hasn't been beta'd so I hope it works. Follow-ups to be called Apple Carts and Hornets' Nests and Irish Goodbye.

Disclaimer: The characters within this story are intellectual properties of Fox, Ryan Murphy and various other subsidiaries and creators. The story itself is mine but likely influenced by some of the stories written by some of the people reading this. No profit is sought or received/accepted for this work.

**Said and Unsaid**

They're having room service for breakfast in her suite at the MGM Grand. She came in from a late show to find him waiting for her and they made love until dawn. He pours her a Bloody Mary and she smiles at him after her first sip because he remembers to heap in the horseradish. He curses when he gets some on his robe and she tells him not to worry about the cost and that she'll only accept that sort of language in the throes of passion. They talk about how his boys are doing in school and how Christopher, his oldest, has grown to be so tall and athletic and just like him. They rarely talk about what it feels like specifically for him to be a parent. Not since a few years ago, when her doctor confirmed that her insides were more like Shelby's than she would have liked. Not since she decided against adopting. They never talk about how Chris' teenage crush on "Auntie Rachel" hasn't gone away and how he has started calling her "Rachel" and sometimes "Rach."

They lie in bed, naked under the tangled sheets of a king sized bed. It's her other apartment, the one she got in her divorce. It was her second marriage: the real one, not the beard for a friend. The light of the moon and the stars and the city itself leaves a faint wash of light in the bedroom that's just enough to make out detail. She's placing kisses down his torso, biting down quickly and gently on his nipple while keeping her eyes locked on his. She's grinning like a cat with the world's biggest canary in her claws until she feels the change in his skin's surface on his left side. She stops to run her fingers across the blotchy stretch of scar tissue that covers the area from his hip halfway up to his armpit. She stops to kiss him there, reverently, and mutters a short blessing before continuing to kiss him lower and lower. She always does this. They have talked about the injury; how it was a poorly made IED, how it was likely the work of a child soldier who was new to the world of guerilla warfare, how it got him sent home in time for Christmas, how he should have been more careful going into such a tight passageway. He has told her about how he lost a rib, his spleen and half of the rest of his liver. She doesn't like to hear about that. She has told him that it looks like a storm cloud because of the jagged lines that protrude from the edges "like lightning bolts." She tells him to call it that: "storm cloud". He does because it makes it less scary to her. He never tells her about the rest of his unit pulling him back out, cutting away his clothes and emptying their canteens flush out the wound. They would do this in case the bomb maker coated the screws and ball bearings of the makeshift mine with rat poison because of its anti-coagulant properties. She never asks if he is still okay to drink with his injury. She never tells him that she wishes he wouldn't just in case.

She tells him to bring the boys by anytime and that she adores them. She admits that she loves the attention they give her, fighting over who can help best around the house or who she likes best. When Christopher received his Holy Confirmation, she imagines that he is reading a haftorah at the Bar Mitzvah she would have instructed him on . . . if he was her son. When she gets teary-eyed in the church, Carole asks if she's alright and she whispers that she's so proud of the boy. Finn catches her eye and knows that it's a half-truth: That there's more to it than that and that he doesn't dare ask.

He gets off the elevator at the floor she tells him to and sees her at the end of the hallway. Her hair is so wild and careless that he knows she spent forever on it. Her blouse is loose and her skirt is so short, so much like the ones she used to wear back then. There are differences, though. The knee high stockings are sheer and dark instead of white cotton. The patent leather shoes are heels, stiletto even. The look he feels her giving him from behind dark glasses and red, painted lips is so unlike the reserved schoolgirl he knows is deep behind the sex and glamour she exudes. He follows her and finds her waiting for him in the stairwell, still facing away. She turns her head over her shoulder and tells him how anxious she has been, how wet she is and tells him to check. He reaches under her skirt only to find nothing but warm air and her slick folds. She leans forward to grab the railing and sharply tells him to get started or she'll do it for him. The public venue doesn't matter anymore. Nothing in the world could stop him as he unzips and plunges into her from behind. The high heels and her long legs make up for the difference in their heights. He tells her how hot and wet she is and how she had better not get tired because he was going fuck her all day long. He slides his hand up the front of her shirt to grab her breast and continues up gently grasp her firmly by the throat. She calls him "dirty fucker" and orders him to go harder and faster. Soon her heels are clicking against the linoleum as she starts getting lifted up by each thrust and she tries to find purchase on the stairs. In no time, her breath becomes ragged and she bites down on her lower lip to feel the flood take her. He supports her weight for the few seconds that she goes limp and she can exhale again. She chuckles and asks if he's going to come for her, come for his "hot bitch." He does and she can feel each heartbeat until he finishes, twitching inside her. He's so tall and she's so limber that they can kiss easily in this position and he hungrily sucks her tongue into his mouth. He tells her how much he misses her. She tells him how much she needs him. She steps away from him and reaches down to take a hold of him. She leads him up the stairs to where her room really is and tells him that he has work to do and that it's been nine weeks since she went on tour without coming back to New York. He promises not to make her wait so much in-between again. Neither of them mention the year-and-a-half when they didn't meet like this, didn't meet at all or even speak much to each other at Kurt's parties. They certainly never bring up the argument between them that led to the temporary separation; a fight where she asked about her and Carmen and the Army and about which was his love, which his mistress and which his obligation. He never says whether it was a factor in turning down the position at West Point and leaving the Army to go into the private sector.

He has told her that he never feels guilty about the affair because he loves her and their love is never wrong. He won't tell her that he gets a thrill out of sex when she has boyfriend and that it makes him feels important and desirable to be the other man.

She gets into the Suburban with the tinted windows and leaves the theatre. She's so frenzied that she doesn't notice that Allen isn't the one driving today. He greets her with a "Good evening, Beautiful" and her head snaps up to see him grinning in the mirror. She doesn't ask where they're going when he starts going towards the Midtown Tunnel instead of the East side. They talk about how well Kurt is doing and how happy he's been since he found Stephon. They both laugh about how they mirror her dads, at least superficially. He talks about how Kurt isn't drinking as much now. He mentions, briefly, how bad things got since Burt died after a second stroke. She pokes to find out if Carole is still drinking since she moved in with him, Carmen and their boys. He doesn't say much. She doesn't push. She certainly doesn't say anything about when Carole caught her alone after the wake and cried with her and told her how she had always hoped for the two of them getting back together. Neither of them bring up the notion that Kurt might know . . . probably knows and that it may be why he has been growing increasingly prickly towards them. When they finally get to a beach house on Long Island, they're holding hands and mooning over each other like teenagers. They kiss and undress each other going up the stairs. He tosses his keys on the nightstand and is discreet when he takes off the Springfield .45 that she hates seeing and tucks it under the bed with his shoes. The headboard is brass railing and faces a picture window that looks out onto the beach. Once they're both naked, she looks over at him and casually tells him how she can't wait to wake him up by riding him while watching the sun come up over the water. He says that he'll have the better view and she's embarrassed that she still swoons as a result of his clichéd but earnest lines after all this time. He lifts her chin to kiss her and she jumps into his arms. He lowers her down some and jabs his shaft up into her. She breaks the kiss with a gasp and giggles as he bounces her while standing next to the bed. She asks how long he can keep this up. He smiles at her when he tells her that its their "signature move" and whispers, "Ahhh, push it. Push it real good." She pretends to giggle when she half-sings "Ohhh baby baby." She doesn't tell him how special it makes her feel, that he remembers every little thing about them.

It was twenty minutes of angry, awkward silence. They had met for the second time since high school prom, since he came to New York, and they had been forced into a cross-town car ride. It wasn't deliberate on Kurt's part. It was a legitimate emergency that held him up and forced them to be alone for the first time in years. It was their own arrogance that made them think it could be a nice catch-up session between mature adults. When she finally broke the silence and asked about his change of station, he exploded. He responded to all the silent recriminations he had imagined to be in her head. He admitted that he fucked up. He didn't expect her to wait for him and he never planned on his own shotgun wedding. He joined the army because he knew he was "Lima good" but Rachel was "New York good, world good" and he needed to be something besides her lover. He needed to be a man. A man whose mother makes his bed and lists video game scores and high school touchdowns as accomplishments isn't "Rachel Berry good." He had hoped that she would have lived her life and fallen in love over and over again each day and that maybe he would have his shot after she had seen who else was out there. He had hoped that they would be each other's last stop and that she wouldn't be lured away by some better-looking, richer, smarter guy. But the army was hard and it was so much time away from Kurt and their parents and Lima and New York and her. And man cannot live on just bread or whatever. And shit happens when you least expect. And he wasn't going let a kid grow up without a father the way he had. She watched silently and open-mouthed as he slowly broke down into the naïve boy who spoke without thinking and kicked furniture when frustrated. By the time they had pulled into her building garage, he had apologized a dozen times. He told her that he had gotten the bad end of the deal because even though he had a family and a career and medals and shit, he didn't have her and that he had proven to the world that he was never going to be "Rachel Berry good." And she kissed him. She kissed him on his temple and then a tear-streaked cheek. Then she turned him to face her and he took her cue to kiss her the way he had wanted to for years. They walked up to her apartment and talked about everything until Kurt called to be buzzed into the building. When Kurt left, so did he. In ten minutes he was back at her door. They talked again. And they kissed again. And they made love until it all made sense.

What little they talk is distant. Cold. Clinical. He gives her the same curt cues and responses that he gives the security he hand-picked for her one week, limited engagement. She isn't a polarizing figure. She has never been political like Barbara. She supports causes dear to her; gay rights, animal rights, arts programs in schools. She doesn't tell him but she thinks its overkill. There are violent incidents all the time but an American singer, Jewish or not, isn't the biggest target in Israel. She could argue with him. Since he left the army, Hudson Five-Star is rapidly growing in reputation as one of the best corporate/personal security firm that doesn't involve itself in straight up mercenary work but the man himself isn't infallible. She knows this better than anyone. She relents and tells him that she understands her notoriety is a factor. She doesn't get into it because she's still angry, still hurt. She would have to talk to him for more than a few seconds and that would lead to a conversation. A conversation they started a year-and-a-half ago that left them mutually incomplete since then. So she limits what sites she visits and who she is seen with. There are no threats. There are no attempts. She gives her final performance in Jerusalem and smiles for schmoozing and photo ops with dignitaries and artists while Finn and his team watch every shadow, corner and catwalk. His jaw is set during the whole tour and he doesn't sleep even half of the four hours a day he allots for himself. When they finally land at JFK, he unclenches and gets fidgety. He personally drives her to Brooklyn and walks her into her home on Ocean Parkway. She is about to tell him that she is exhausted and just wants to forget the whole ordeal when he grabs her by the waist and the back of her head, crushing his mouth against hers. She wants to scream, to spit venom into his mouth . . . but only for a second. They melt together until he breaks the kiss and begins to ramble. He apologizes for how he acted, for scaring her about the danger, for putting limits on the experience. But he won't let anyone else get hurt by the sand. No one else he loves will be killed in that part of the world. Not by bombs or bullets or men with machetes and God on their side. They could have the oil and the money and the cities and the sheep that they fuck and anything else they want but not her. She would not be brought home in a box because of sand or hatred or searing heat. And he half sobs into her shoulder and begs or her to say something back, something that meant he was forgiven. She leads him to the bedroom and tells him to be quiet as they curl up together. She tells him that she'll never have to forgive him because she can never be angry at just him alone. She tells him that they are done being angry at themselves and each other. She tells him to love her and he does.


	2. Apple Carts and Hornet's Nests

Author's Note: This drabble is a companion to Said and Unsaid. I strongly suggest reading that first for context. Less necessary is Irish Goodbye. I would, however, be very pleased if you gave that a shot also.

Disclaimer: The characters within this story are intellectual properties of Fox, Ryan Murphy and various other subsidiaries and creators. The story itself is mine but likely influenced by some of the stories written by some of the people reading this. No profit is sought or received/accepted for this work.

**Apple Carts and Hornets' Nests**

Finn walks into the spacious Manhattan co-op and, as always, is impressed by how much effort Kurt puts into a simple family-gathering-slash-graduation-celebration. Stephon gives him a brief hug with plenty of back slaps before excusing himself to the last of the decorations. The music gets turned up louder as Finn walks to the kitchen to find his stepbrother waiting for him. The door swings shut and the sounds of Stevie Wonder becomes faint. He wraps his long arms around the smaller man.

"You spoil us with these big productions, Bro."

"No, I'm spoiling _you_ with _this_."

The corner of Finn's mouth nearly reaches his ear as the treat is set in front of him. Kurt christened it "Finn Benedict" after taking direction from his equally drunk stepbrother while making snacks for them one late summer night turned early summer morning. Hash squares, seared to a crisp on both sides separated perfectly poached eggs from the cardboard tube biscuits they rested upon with the whole ordeal smothered in hollandaise sauce and Tabasco.

He begins cutting into it and Kurt slides a glass over to him. Finn's eyebrows raise at the thick red liquid.

"Bloody Mary?"

"Virgin Mary."

Finn grimaces before gulping it down and resumes his task of moaning obscenely over each dripping forkful.

"I guess you have the Army to thank," Kurt deadpans.

Finn swallows what he has in his mouth. "Thank for what?"

"For giving you the skills to do what you do. Not the shooting and the driving and all that. The logistics of it. Being able to keep accounts and teams organized, on time and equipped. Never would have guessed it possible after knowing what your room used to look like when we were kids in Lima."

Finn chuckles. "Yeah. I know right?"

Kurt stiffens some and swallows. "I guess it makes things easier with Rachel then, doesn't it?"

"What 'things easier with Rachel'?" Finn's eyebrows knitted together and he sat himself up straight on his stool.

Kurt still had to steel himself. An angry Finn could still be scary. Even if he would never hurt his family, he moved a lot and talked with his hands and took up a whole room like a beast too big for its cage.

The situation itself was gut-wrenching for Kurt. "Alibis. . . Paying tolls in cash. . . Juggling schedules and still making things spontaneous, romantic. . ."

Finn interrupted the accusation, "Kurt. . . You don't know what. . ."

Kurt returned fire. "That's right! I don't _know_ and I don't want to _know_! Because if I don't know for sure, I can pretend that it's not happening! I can tell myself that my married brother and my best friend aren't having an affair!"

As soon as Finn stood up and opened his mouth, Kurt cut in again. "Don't say whatever you were going to say! Especially if it's a denial. You never could lie worth a damn."

Finn leaned back against a counter and crossed his arms over his chest, looking just below Kurt's eye level as he continued.

"I . . . think that I can understand it. I can at least empathize. She's a wonder. I know it and , if I wasn't the way I am, I'd have probably sabotaged the two of you and claimed her for myself . . . and then broken out my eardrums with a pencil a week later.

So I don't question why you, hypothetically, are carrying on with Rachel behind all of our backs. I question if you've thought everything out. That's never been your strong suit. Maybe it's better for what you do, to react instinctively to threats. No hesitation, no regret. That's fine in life-or-death, Finn, but what about life-or-life?" Finn met his eyes with a silent, quizzical look.

"Carmen has to know," Kurt continued, watching a slight panic on his brother's face. "A woman always knows. I knew when Blaine was spending more and more time in London and growing distant."

"And so I can only assume that Carmen knows and she's . . . indifferent? Unconcerned? I love her but I really don't know her as deeply as I know the other players in this. Maybe she figures it's a trade off for the standard of living she has. Maybe she figures that she has the real deal and the rest is details. Maybe she doesn't want to really know, either. Maybe she tells herself that you and she are together out of circumstance and it was a mistake to think you could move on from your past."

Kurt begins to redden. "Maybe that's what you tell yourself: that it's a mistake and that you have to lie in the bed you made. But its not just you in that bed, is it? Maybe your marriage is a regret but those boys? My nephews are **not **mistakes, Finn! They are everything that is good about you and Carmen both and one look at them confirms that they're not "hot tub babies!" Finn's jaw clenches.

"Those boys know that they have a great father, a great father who's a good man. But an adolescent brain has trouble wrapping itself around adult concepts. _My_ brain is having a hard time with it. Everything those boys are and will be is because of you. A lacrosse scholarship for Christopher? Genetics. The money for college for him and Peter if there's no scholarship? Hard work and time served. The fact that Matthew is the only kid in his grade who can tell you what's going on in world news, set up a tent by himself or fold a flag right? Values you taught. Values that they need to believe in for the rest of their lives. They need to believe _in you_. When our parents got together, you had trouble with daddy issues and that was a father you never knew. You spent most of your childhood trying so hard so that you could be good and strong like him and then it turned sour when you found the truth in a box of medals and a dishonorable discharge. And then you almost didn't make it. You left everything and everybody in your world to reclaim your honor by finishing the job of a man you never knew. What would your sons do if they knew? What job would they risk themselves to finish?

And Rachel isn't exactly getting the best deal, is she? She gets the Finn but someone else gets the Hudson? She gets to never be lonely but she never really gets to be available? What do you think; that it's a perfect arrangement? That she gets to have love and a family with the convenience of jetting around the world for her career? She has none of that, Finn. She has a scrapbook of other people's families and an empty bed to comfort her most nights. And I know it's not all roses with you two. A few years ago, when you didn't tell jokes or have her over to see the kids? For what? A year? A year-and-a-half? She was always tired and cranky and she lost a lot of weight, Finn. She's tiny to begin with and Page Six was starting to say things; anorexia or drugs or cancer. It was the stress of losing you. That's how bad she has it. She doesn't even have you, really, and she couldn't take the loss.

I hope you have a plan, Finn. You couldn't do long division in high school but you always found a way to save everybody with a brilliant plan. The right numbers for a competition. Some trick play that won a football game. Some battlefield strategy that saved lives. What's the plan, soldier? I need to know. **I need to know!**" Finn looked up as Kurt shrieked the last part and saw his eyes start to tear.

"I need to know because I'm stuck, too. You're all I have left. Dad died and you and Carole are all I have. You were always my hero, you know. Nearly as much as Dad. Even when you fucked up. When we were kids, I didn't have a crush on you because of your looks or your singing. I wanted my hero to like me. That's why it mattered so much that you liked Jeremy and Stephon and that you thought that Alex was a piece of shit. And that's why I love having your boys around, because they look up to their Uncle Kurt the way I still look up to you. I get to dress Christopher for back to school so that all the girls swoon over him. And when Matthew asked if he could be gay because I was and he thought that it was 'cool' and that girls liked 'cool gay stuff.' They both chuckled a little.

"But I hope you can come up with something brilliant. I hope that you can make the call when one of us can't take it anymore. What would the call be? What gets 'shit-canned?' The self-absorbed, little JAP with a nice ass and a massive ego? The gay fake brother you got saddled with in high school? Or the inconvenient bartender that you knocked up during one your post-karaoke hook ups down at Fort Whateverthehell?"

Finn finally pushed himself from the counter and squared towards Kurt. "It's like a table, Kurt. A table with three legs. I have Carmen and the boys. I have you and Mom. I have . . . her. Kick out any one of the legs and I fall."

Kurt could barely contain a sneer as he shook his head slowly. "You're a big man, Frankenteen. It's a lot of stress on those legs. Maybe it's not whether they're kicked out but whether they eventually break."

"I've been knocked down before, Porcelain. I'll live. And I'll keep being the leg for other people's tables. For the people who count on me just as much as I need them. For the people I love and care about more than the rest of whole world put together. Because you have the same number of legs. So does everybody."

"I forgot that you could be a manipulative bastard when you want to be."

"When I absolutely have to be. When I'm backed into a corner and have no other option to turn to. The biggest, worst bastard in the world."

Their impasse firmly established, Finn stepped forward and pulled Kurt into him. He felt him stiffen around the shoulders and, when Kurt relaxed, he rested his cheek upon the smaller man's head.

"I love you, bro."

"I love you, too, Gigantor."

Finn thanked him again for all the hard work that went into hosting the dinner party. He tousled the hair on Kurt's head and both grinned at the frustration he was expected to express. A simple "asshole!" was all he got this time.

And as Finn called his wife to tell her how the place looked, Kurt realized that he actually felt worse after than before.


	3. Irish Goodbye

Author's note: This is a companion to Said and Unsaid and Apple Carts and Hornets' Nests. It can be read and enjoyed by itself but it is an AU version of the S3 finale and helps flesh out the universe for the other two stories. These rely heavily on context clues and were not beta'd in anyway, so I apologize in advance.

Disclaimer: The characters within this story are intellectual properties of Fox, Ryan Murphy and various other subsidiaries and creators. The story itself is mine but likely influenced by some of the stories written by some of the people reading this. No profit is sought or received/accepted for this work.

**Irish Goodbye**

Rachel heard the commotion and immediately knew the worst had happened. And it had been the most perfect night ever.

Finn had been crowned prom king and danced with Brittany as his queen before switching her off mid-song to Santana and scooping up Rachel, swinging her with ease as everybody clapped and cheered. She was having the time of her life at prom: surrounded by friends she never thought she'd have, dancing with the boyfriend she never thought she'd get and free from slushies and put downs and the hockey goons who were tossed from prom with Azimio after they were caught giving Kurt and Blaine a hard time when they went to the bathroom.

Prom was winding down and Rachel came out of the bathroom to what looked like a fire drill. Following everyone to the parking lot, she saw a crowd forming and teachers rushing in to part the crowd. In the center of everything was a litter of beer cans, a bloody-mouthed Rick "The Stick" Nelson arguing with Azimio, and Kurt's Navigator with "FAggeTs" painted on the windshield.

"Fuck! Sasqua-tth Jughead mommer fugger! Where were you, pigskin?" Rick the Stick was not having good night.

"Mohawked psycho kept diving in at my legs, saying he was gonna kneecap me. I got a partial ride to Akron. Not losing that just 'cause Mr Showtune went all grizzly bear upside your mullet." Azimio's wasn't much better.

Once she was past the crowd, Coach Beiste roared at the two. "Anybody want to tell me what's going on here or are you just going to stand there like a couple of nuns who forgot their umbrellas?"

Will Schuester, Coach Sylvester and Principal Figgins came upon the scene. Seeing Kurt's car and hearing the conversation between Azimio and Rick, Will feared the worst. They were over eighteen. Their physical diplomas were held until commencement. Puck's graduation hung in the balance and Finn might still have had a shot at college. They could be criminally charged. All that the two boys had worked for would be for nothing.

But when salvation is needed most, it comes from unexpected sources.

"You've got eyes, Dorothy Kong! One of Schuester's caterwaulers has a defaced vehicle. Two loudmouthed jocks are beat to hell and two more are MIA. It's pretty obvious what the deal is here."

"Yo! Ain't nobody kicked my ass."

"Can it, pork roll! As I was saying, Porcelain's hoopty is tragically vandalized but it doesn't excuse Hudson and Puckerman from running after the unidentified suspects that took out these two when they tried to defend their classmate's property."

Azimio, Rick, the faculty and glee club members looked at each other quizzically as Sue continued.

"The misspelled slur on Hummel's environmentally brutal monstrosity had to have gotten there somehow," she explained while grabbing Rick's stained hands.

"Nelson and Azimio must have stumbled across them and gotten paint on themselves in the scuffle. Herman Munster and Mohawk must have chased the perpetrators off."

"Whad are you tryin ta . . ."

Rick was cut off by Sue stepping face to face with him before continuing. "That's the only explanation I can think of to explain an unsolved _hate crime_ at a school function. A hate crime that can bring serious criminal repercussion, including but not limited to rescinding of college scholarships and even acceptances. Am I close to what happened, Mr 'The Stick'?"

"I, uh. . . It all happened so fass."

"That's what I thought. Does that sound about right to all of you?" Sue asked, looking around at Will, Beiste, Kurt, Blaine and Figgins.

Kurt stood up straight and stepped forward. "It will wash off . . . mostly. I want to thank you two for looking after my car. Be assured that I _won't_ forget it."

Will leaned in towards him. "Are you sure, Kurt? This is a serious issue."

"And I'm very serious about it. But I'm also willing for karma to do its job tonight."

"Principal Figgins. As the student is satisfied with . . ." Will began.

"Over the past three years, I have come to the conclusion that the various shenanigans, tomfoolery and travesties that seem to orbit your glee club like a moth to flame are likely best handled as being _your_ problem up until it involves the Ohio National Guard. Good night, William. See to your students."

As Figgins _walked_ away, a relieved and smiling Will turned to Sue. "That was pretty smooth, Sue. I can't possibly thank you enough for. . . I don't even know where to begin."

"You can begin by taking Figgy's advice and go collect your wayward knuckle-draggers. I didn't do this for you or for Tango & Cash. These two got taught a lesson and I trust street justice more than a mid-west municipal court to deal with it appropriately."

Will turned to his students and ushered them to their cars. They had to find Finn and Puck.

Hours Later

Puck walked down the street with the flat boxes of sugary goodness. He was chuckling to himself until he arrived outside the Hudson-Hummel home. On the street, parked behind Kurt's SUV and Mr Schue's beater, was a silver Lexus RX hybrid. In the rear window was the ubiquitous "stick figure family" consisting of two male figures with briefcases and holding hands with each other and a smaller female figure in pink holding a microphone and surrounded by music notes and gold stars. The reality set in as he steeled himself further and stepped inside.

"Wakey wakey, friends and fam!" He announced loudly as the storm door banged into place behind him. Will, Burt, Hiram Berry and Blaine looked up from their coffee as puck slapped the boxes of doughnuts on the kitchen table. Leroy was jolted awake on the Hummel's couch. Kurt came up from the basement.

Carole was wide-eyed as she ran down the stairs and wrapped her arms around Puck. "Noah?! Oh God, Noah! Where the hell have you two been?!"

"Out. Around."

Burt jumped up from the table and backed Puck up a few steps. "Not close to being cute, Puckerman. We were up all night looking everywhere in town for you and Finn."

Puck was honestly concerned as to whether he was going to be throttled by the Hudmelberries but kept up the façade. "Technically, if you had looked everywhere. . ."

"Noah, where is Finn?" At that, everyone turned to Rachel coming up from the basement wearing Kurt's sweatpants and draped in one of Finn's McKinley Titans T-shirts.

"On a bus."

"Puck, we checked the bus depot."

"The bus didn't leave from the depot. It left from the recruiting station."

Carole moaned and grabbed on to Burt. Rachel whispered a simple, "No."

Kurt looked like a goldfish before finding the words. "Dad? Dad? We can't. We can't let him go. He could get hurt, Dad! Finn's can't be in the army. He could . . ."

Burt cut him off. "He'll be fine, Kurt! He's tough. He has a good head on his shoulders. He's got heart." Burt looked at his wife, shaking in his arms. "He'll come back to us safe and sound. He's eighteen. He's a man who can make his own choices and deal with the consequences. Oooooh-ho! Bet your ass he's gonna deal with those consequences when he comes back. Comes back safe and sound."

"We were in the woods." Puck said to no one in particular. "Behind your old house."

He locked eyes with Carole who pulled herself away from Burt. "What?"

Glad to have distracted her, Puck continued. "We needed a place to hide out until the bus came in the morning. Couldn't go to the field house or the choir room or Seven-Eleven. We went to the fort we built when were ten."

"You went back there?" Carole was almost smiling.

"Yeah. We knew nobody else would be back there. The other kids thought it was lame after a week but Finn and I kept going back all the time. We were too young to smoke pot and bring girls back there so we just talked about how we were gonna do it when we were older. We talked about football and what it was like to not have a dad. It was where first realized that we were best friends."

"How could you?" Puck looked up to see Rachel glaring at him through her bangs.

"Like big daddy said, it was his choice."

"You two get dragged into a fight at prom yet again and then get drunk in the woods until Finn decides to join the army and you. Walk in here. Smiling. WITH DOUGHNUTS!"

The tiny brunette launched herself at him, beating his chest and face with wild slaps until she was pulled away by her fathers. "How could you let him do this?! We were getting married! We had plans for a life together! And now you ruined it in one night!"

"Is that what you think happened?! Get a clue. Finn had this planned since you got that acceptance letter."

Rachel finally stilled. "What?"

"What did you think was going to happen, Princess? Finn was going to let you rot here in Lima just for him, then follow you out to New York and do what exactly? He said that he was 'setting you free.' He planned this out a week ago. He wanted to put knuckles on the shitfaces who've been riding us for three years, get a future outside this town and get out of the way between you and Broadway. Mission fucking accomplished."

"No. He would have told me. We would have talked about things. I would have. . ."

"Talked him out of it. You would have talked him out of it because there's nothing he wouldn't give up for you. So he didn't give you the chance. And there was no way he'd let you give up New York for him. So he made like that pilot in that _Air Force One_ movie and took the hit. That's Finn, huh? Badass and chicken shit all at the same time." Puck handed an envelope to Rachel from his back pocket. "He gave me some gas money to get to LA. The pink to his truck, his savings and the money for your honeymoon are all here. 'For books and clothes and stuff,' he said."

"And that's what he left me with? Money? Not even a goodbye?"

"He said, "Don't stop believing in your dreams because your dreams are bigger than this and they're bigger than him.'"


	4. Signs Along The Road

**Signs Along the Road**

Standard disclaimer is standard.

Finn lied on his back, still trying to catch his breath. He felt the warm body next to him move and, for a second, the olive skin and dark hair in his peripheral vision interrupted the slowing of his heart. Then the form next to him stretched out too long, rolling over to reveal full breasts and hazel eyes and he pushed other thoughts to the back of his mind.

"Damn, boy! You love to pick up the pace on the encore performance don't you?"

"Yeah. I'm kinda selfish like that, I guess."

"Anytime, Hudson. Anytime."

"I'll remember that."

Carmen propped herself up on her elbow and looked him in the eyes.

"I mean that. We shouldn't take this too serious but there's no reason not to enjoy it, you know? We can be real good friends."

"Good friends, huh? Good friends with benefits?"

"Yeah. Look, I think you've figured out that I'm not looking to get dragged from one base to the next with a string of kids for the rest of my life. But that doesn't mean I picked you out of the blue."

"No?"

"There's no such thing as a 'three night stand,' Finn. You're only the second guy I ever brought home from the bar and the first one I already had my eye on from classes."

"Really?" Finn watched Carmen's one eyebrow raise, both questioning and bordering on annoyance. She thinks he thinks she's a slut. Damnit! "Uh . . . not that I thought you. . . I mean. . . all the guys you meet probably . . . you know they all fall all over themselves trying to talk to you and all. You could pick any guy in the place."

"And I took you home because you're not so bad yourself. A lot of you soldier boys come into the bar. Some of them tall and cute. Not many sing like you do. You got soul, Finn Hudson. And you manage not to stare at my chest the entire time we talk."

"Thanks." Finn turns to face her. "So what do you want out of life?"

"Wow. Really? You're going to get all deep on me?"

"I'd like to know some things about my new friend. I don't go home with chicks from the bar, either."

"Oh well then this 'chick from the bar,'" she slapped him with a pillow for effect, "plans on leaving the desert behind and putting my degree to good use. I have another two semesters at UTEP and I'll be looking to do physical therapy anywhere but here."

"Why not here? The college has athletics and the base is here."

"More interested in hospitals, working with kids and old people. And I need to get out. I mean, do you have anything pulling you back to Ohio?"

Finn breathes out heavily. "No. No, I don't."

"See? My folks sold their rental properties and had enough money to bounce before the market crashed all the way through. I may follow them to Florida."

"Never been there."

"Really?! Never been to Disney World?!"

"My mom didn't have a lot of money or time to spare when I was a kid. When I got older, I was older."

"Just you and mom, huh? I didn't know."

"She got remarried when I was in high school. Great guy. Got a stepbrother. He's probably the best man I know."

"He anything like you?," she asked with some interest.

Finn chuckled. "If he were in your shoes, he'd probably marry the first guy he brought home from the bar."

"He could try. This is still Texas, though."

Finn traced his fingers over the cross and burning heart tattooed on her hip. "Story?"

"I grew up going to church. Very traditional. Quinceanera and everything."

"Quinceanera?"

"It's like a bar mitzvah or a sweet sixteen for Latin girls. At fifteen, they dress you up like you're getting married and give you a doll after you change into high heels."

"That's . . . cool."

"Not really. I hope, if ever have a kid, I have a boy. None of that."

She looks over Finn's body, taking in his tattoos. "You've got a couple of stories, don't you soldier." She stroked one, "Ezekiel 18:20," on the inside of his arm. "You religious, too?"

"Not really. I tried but I don't what to believe in. That's something I looked up a while back."

"And I know about the bar codes you guys get. The tribal?"

"Just a tribal. My first tat before I went down to Georgia. Thought it would look cool."

"And all covered up by a spring uniform. You going to be an officer one day, Finn?"

"I don't know. They said they saw something in me at infantry school and sent me to ranger school. They said they saw something in me again later and sent me here for JTF North. Now, they're seeing things again."

"And what's the deal with this one?" She puts her finger on a red number five inside a black and gold bordered star on the right side of his chest.

"My old high school number. Quarterback."

"In a funny place."

"I wanted it close to my heart."

"Your heart is on the other side."

"I know." He sits up and grabs his pants from the floor.

"You could stay."

"I have to be on base, dressed and in my chair at oh-eight-forty-five."

"I'll set an alarm."

"You don't want me to go?"

She smirked at him. "I think I'm going to want a friend in the morning."

And he hesitated a moment before giving a sad half smile back and dropping his pants before sliding back alongside her.


End file.
